THE Spice Market makes dining in the malodorous Meatpacking District at 10 p.m. fun. The long-awaited, $5 million Southeast Asian fantasy of Jean-Georges Vongerichten and Gray Kunz is so jammed, you may have to eat at midnight – and be glad for it.

European navies once chased spices to the edge of the earth. Foodies are no less frantic over the most seductive setting since faux-Viennese Danube – which happens to have the same designer, Jacques Garcia.

Vongerichten and Kunz, of course, are two of America’s greatest chefs. Their joint brainstorm turns out to be cheerfully unpretentious. Its well-priced menu is as exotic as you can stand. And if the kitchen has yet to hit its full stride, the vibe is so right, you’ll hardly care.

Here is the tropical Far East of your dreams. The village-like sprawl is sectioned off by trellis-like wooden arches that allow glimpses beyond. Aromas from an open kitchen transport you to a distant wharf.

Every inch of timber is the real thing, shipped in from afar and legitimately antique. The walls are from Bangkok. A pagoda-like structure over the stairs bore 19th-century Indian brides aloft.

We’d laugh if a place set out to serve dishes of France, Spain, Poland and Greece simultaneously. Yet Spice Market taps cuisines even more far-flung: Indian, Malaysian, Thai and Vietnamese. Is it a wonder it has yet to master every sauce and curry?

Spice Market is supposedly “inspired” by Southeast Asian street snacks. Like most opening shticks, this should be taken with a highly aromatic grain of salt. I’d love to know the corner where folks stand around slurping acidic citrus soup combining tuna and tapioca pearls ($11).

Start with papadams and scintillating kasundi, an Indian spice-tomato jam good enough to put on blueberry muffins. Don’t I know it from TanDa, where chef de cuisine Stanley Wong once cooked?

“Every dish is served family style and as soon as it’s ready,” waitresses chirp. One plate at a time guarantees that gleaming, pristine cod ($18) on a bed of garlic, ginger, scallions and Thai basil disappears instantly.

But don’t expect the refinement of Vong, Vongerichten’s more focused take on French-Thai cooking. The place is counting on its party-animal clientele to laugh off inconsistency and illogical conception.

A disquieting spoiled undertaste pervades steamed lobster ($29) with butter-fried garlic, ginger and dried chili. And since Kunz and Vongerichten are said to have combed the streets and markets of Asia for authenticity, why are “Vietnamese” spring rolls ($8.50) a doughy, American-Cantonese blur of pork, crab and shrimp in egg-roll wrapping?

I didn’t care for pastry chef Pichet Ong’s work at 66, but he saves the day with treats like Ovaltine kulfi with banana brulée and spiced chocolate sauce. The espresso punch of chocolate coffee tart braces you after Asianized killer cocktails.

“He who would have the wealth of the Indies,” an old proverb goes, “must carry the wealth of the Indies home with him.”

So far, Spice Market gets about half the load ashore. But with scenery so good, who’s keeping score?